


Five Things You Know and One Thing You Don't

by scoutshonour



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 10:21:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6280702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoutshonour/pseuds/scoutshonour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love is painful. Allison's aware of that. She knows a few things in life, five in particular about her feelings for Lydia.</p><p>However, there's one thing she doesn't know.</p><p>Based on the poem, Five Things You Know and One Thing You Don't, which is used in this one-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Things You Know and One Thing You Don't

_first. she touches you and you light on fire._

It's the happiest you ever remember being at school, no wait, scratch that - it's the happiest you'll ever be at school, and that's a fact. You can feel your entire face light up and your mood automatically and immediately shift (because isn't everyone's mood on the first day shitty?) and you feel lighter. Like last year is in the past, even though you're certain things will happen this year that are out of your control and will most likely threaten your life and the lives of your loved ones, but still. You feel safe, you feel reborn. You feel happy when you see her and you immediately break into a grin.

She's glowing, grinning brightly as she strides toward you. Her hair twists into curls, cascades down her shoulders and she looks fierce and protective. Like she would not hesitate to rip your head off if necessary and would not hesitate to rip someone else's head off to protect you. It's hard to be threatening at 5"3, but she's doing a pretty good job. She walks up to you, and oh God, you feel lucky. "Having a good first day?" She asks you in that harmonic voice of hers.

You input your combination in from memory, snorting a little at that question. "Is it possible to have a good day back of school?" You ask, like every angst-ridden teenager would respond, but at least, you have an honest reason. You think of how complicated last year was, and how difficult the summer was. You think of Kate. Then of Peter shamelessly, proudly slashing her throat. You think of your mother's death. You think of Gerard. You think of your emotionally detached father. You think of how screwed up you are right now, and how you're clinging onto something: hope for a new year. The worst has already happened. What else could go wrong?

For some reason, that thought assures you. Your father is strong, as are your friends. You'll be okay. You look up, and realize that Lydia is telling you that, that you'll be fine and she's here for you and you smile shakily. "Was I that out of it?" You mutter dryly, but you're not surprised. After the scarring few months, you've grown the tendency to space out of conversations and lose focus. Maybe it's a being traumatized thing. You're working on it, though. It's not a desirable trait to have for school, now is it?

Lydia smirks, making it a playful ordeal. "Pretty much, but it's definitely understandable. I'm always here to talk, okay?" She vaguely reminds you, never referencing anything that's happened to you without your permission or without you bringing it up yourself, which you appreciate. You should thank her for it, but you just pull her into a hug, never too good with words.

She wraps her arms around your neck, squeezing gently and you feel fire crackling on your skin. There's this strange, fluttering feeling bubbling in your stomach that you're not used to around Lydia, that makes you feel light and nervous, but excited. You don't understand, not completely, until Lydia says the four little words that change things forever.

"I love you, Allison," she says, carefree, like she doesn't know much, but she knows that for sure. Her voice is filled with certainty, and you realize too, that you're certain you love her.

You don't know what it is. You think it's the words, even if you've heard it so many different times. 

It sets something strong within you, releases a chain of emotions you never knew you had.

It'd be very easy, you think, to lean forward and press your lips against Lydia's and you feel the urge. It's strong, and you force yourself to stay still. It's not difficult either, because when she touches you, her fingers brushing against your arms, you feel your entire body freeze. You cannot move, even if you want to. Her lips are painted red, and her big eyes stare up at you, lips spreading into a gentle, warm smile. She's gorgeous and pure. She deserves the world, and you realize too that you would do anything to give it to her.

Anything.

You feel light, incredibly light. Your throat is incredibly dry, even though you just stopped at the water fountain prior to coming to your locker when you realize how screwed you are. It takes every ounce of effort not to kiss her right then and there, in front of everybody, in the middle of the hallway, and miraculously, you don't. "I love you too," you manage to respond shakily.

You've said it to Lydia a million times, but it's different now. It's going to be different, you just don't entirely understand that yet.

_second. it hurts to watch her, she shines. she's brighter than the sun, she's too beautiful for your eyes._

She starts to pursue a new student at school, an older-looking kid that maybe failed a year or two, with thick, muscled arms that seems to capture Lydia's attention and affection. He looks old and you refuse to believe that he is 16. He looks like he's fucking  forty. His name's Aiden, she tells you, and his twin brother is Ethan, who Lydia insists is gay. "Maybe he's bi," you offer, but she turns your idea down, saying that there are no bisexual students at their school. You have to literally bite down on your lip from saying,hey, I'm here! Your feelings are messy. But you've liked boys, and you love like Lydia, and bisexual would be pretty accurate.

"You don't even know him and you want to date him?" You reply timidly, getting annoyed by her continuous remarks about his looks. "And hello, we're not studying boys, we're studying this stupid war," you remind her, tapping your book to add emphasis. You're a little jealous. Just a little. It's a stupid crush, you've convinced yourself. You're spending so much time with her, that you're getting confused with feelings.

Alright, that's complete shit, but you're still trying to wrap the idea around your head. You stare at her, for a really long time, which is getting seriously creepy, so you look away, staring instead at the notes you've created five minutes ago to review. She doesn't answer for a long time, which makes you think that she's too engrossed into this dumb, big boy to even pay attention to you. That furthers your annoyance, but she responds finally.

"I want a distraction," she says simply, eyes narrowed with determination, like this is a game to her that she's ready to figure out. _He's a person,_ you want to say, but you don't. You won't snap at her, not when things are going so well for you both.

You're sitting in the library, _trying_ to study and Lydia's not-so-subtly staring at him, not focusing at all on the big History test you both have tomorrow. Fantastic. "I know this book front to back, Allison. I don't need to study," she says.

"You don't even know him," you nearly hiss, trying your best not to sound judgmental and annoyed. Lydia's her own person, and is allowed to do whatever she wants, but needs to be careful. Every fiber in your being is screaming at you to keep her safe, to protect her. You need to protect her, Allison. "He could be a killer." At this point, you don't know if you're joking or not, and Lydia has to know that, right? "He could be a kidnapper. A rapist. A sadist. He could  _hurt_ you."

"I can take care of myself, Allison, I'm a big girl," she says absentmindedly, setting her cup of coffee down on the table after a long sip. She stands up suddenly and approaches him with utmost confidence and grace that only Lydia Martin can pull off. You forcefully tear your gaze away, trying to focus on the textbook in front of you. It hurts too much, to watch her flirt with other guys, to watch her rave on and on about the string of men, no, boys, she's been hooking up with. I'm right here, you want to scream.

All of these new feelings attack you, invade your mind suddenly. You want to take that day away, when you realized that Lydia means so much more to you, because you love her and you want, need to be with her. You feel you're going to explode. You're so close to snapping at her, to lashing out. You're just confused.

You're in love with your best friend and the one person you want to talk to is the one person you absolutely _cannot_ talk to.

Lydia's busy with the new guy, and you feel annoyed, because she completely forgot about you. You start to clean up, gather your textbooks, and decide to just go home and cram by yourself, when you accidentally bump into Scott on the way out. "Hey, Scott," you say nervously, and you know it's awkward since you broke up, and you're trying to slow your heartbeat down, and trying to make things less awkward. "Sorry about that." You laugh, like it's a typical, Allison Argent thing to do, bump into people.

His eyes go wide when he realizes you bumped into him, and he shakes his head, smiling a bit. "No, no, it's fine! Uh - how's your first week of school going? We haven't really had the opportunity to talk, you know," he says generally.

You nod. "It's been alright, I guess - as good as it can get," you say with a thin-lipped smile, fidgeting between the straps of your backpack anxiously. It's a lie, because dealing with these new feelings are feeling like drowning and you need to vent, you need to talk to someone. Scott would understand right? Sure, he's your ex, but he understands. He's Scott McCall and he wants you to be happy, right? "Can we talk? It's just that I've started feeling -"

"I'm very sorry to interrupt and if you still want to talk, I'm totally here tomorrow or we can hangout this weekend, but there's something sort of urgent I need to say before anything bad happens." He sounds apologetic, like he really hates interrupting you, and you even smile wearily, because that's Scott for you. He's talking very quickly and urgently, like you must know about it at this very second.

Your heartbeat races, and you feel scared. Someone died. Someone's dying. Your mind jumps to the worst possible conclusion, preparing you for whatever sentence is about to come your way. You can't have one week of normalcy, can you? "What is it?" You say, and you don't even try to hide the worry in her voice.

"There are two new werewolves at our school," he says, sounding breathless. You don't ask how he knows - werewolves must have the same, or a distinct smell at least that's noticeable to other werewolves. He sniffs, looking around. "They're - they're here, actually," he says, and there's clear disdain and nervousness littering in his voice. Possibly fear.

It makes you laugh, a little too loud because Scott gives you a weird look of concern, and you're pretty sure you know who it is. You feel a pang of relief, and you sigh. "Let me guess - the twins, Ethan and Aiden?" You try to hide the bitterness in your voice - you've heard enough of pretty boy, Aiden for a lifetime and now he's probably going to come after you and your friends.

Again, fantastic.

Scott frowns, looking fairly surprised. "How'd you know? Did Isaac tell you? Did they - did they hurt you?" He's reaching out to you, scanning you for any visible wounds.

You shake your head slowly, his concern swelling your heart. You flinch a little at the sudden touch, though, and he recoils, looking extremely apologetic. "Just a hunch. I'm fine, Scott. Lydia just so happens to be flirting with one of them right now. I'll go save her," you say casually, like it's your job. _Protect her, keep her safe, at all costs_ , you remind yourself. Keep her safe. You skid off, drifting to the aisle where Lydia is. You eye her, watching her smiling with the werewolf, before you intervene. You grab her things first, because this is an emergency, after all.

"Lydia!" You squeak, running up to her. "Stiles - Stiles, that idiot, he fell down a flight of stairs on his way home. He can barely walk." You roll your eyes forcefully, never once glancing at Aiden. "Are you gonna help him or not?" The lie is totally dumb, but anyone who knows Stiles, knows that this could definitely be true. You're thankful now, for the Drama class you're taking, which is slightly making you a better liar. Slightly.

Lydia glares at you, like she knows this is a big lie, but she just sighs, shooting Aiden an apologetic look. "Sorry about my clueless friend. I'll finish the rest of my story to you tomorrow," she says, smiling flirtatiously at him.

He returns the smile, bending down and whispers something so lowly that you miss, and you clench your jaw, because seriously? What fucking sex games could they be playing now? They've known each other for five minutes. You yank on her arm, tugging our out of the library quickly, muttering something about Stiles being in mortal peril and how Lydia wants to hop on this guy's dick so desperately.

"What the hell was that?" Lydia huffs, yanking her wrist out of your grasp, which admittedly stings. "I was in the middle of something! And hop on his dick? Seriously? And I need to get my things -"

"Stiles actually fell down!" You insist, and if you know anything, you know for sure that Aiden is listening. He can probably tell she's lying, but it doesn't matter. Considering their luck this past year, he's probably after you and your friends. So much for a normal year. You don't say anything with actual truth until you drag her into your car, slamming the doors shut and breathing heavily into your front seat. You drive for a few minutes, just to make sure, ignoring her complaints, until you say it aloud.

"He's a werewolf, Lydia," you say.

Lydia looks annoyed, much less relieved that you just saved her from a possibly life-threatening situation. "I can handle a werewolf. Jackson was a kanima, you know," she says, sounding agitated.

You bite back a nasty comment. You're protecting her. How can she be so blind and naive to you? You're trying to keep her safe. "You knew Jackson, Lydia, you don't know this guy. You could've gotten yourself in a dangerous situation! For all we know, he could've been after you. Trying to get to you. Trying to _hurt_ you."

"But **why?** " She shoots back angrily, and her cheeks are matching the color of her hair. She looks angry, angrier than you've ever seen her before and it's at _you._

Your heart starts to hammer, but you realize you shouldn't apologize. She's overreacting and she isn't thinking straight. "I don't know! How can you be so stupid?" You practically scream. You're yelling at her, and it's getting stupid, because you're mad at her, blaming her when you should be kicking that werewolf's ass. _Get it together, Argent._

She clenches her jaws, looking visibly pissed, but doesn't retort. She scowls, leans into her seat and stays quiet for a long time. "Just - just drive me home, Allison," she says, never looking at you once after that.

This is frustrating. You don't say anything on the car ride, knowing she's angry at you for interfering, but she doesn't understand, not completely. Not why you need her absolutely and completely safe and if anything happened to her, you would never be able to live with the pain. When you reach her house, a place you've been to so many times, it's like your second home, she doesn't say anything. You expect her to leave without a mere 'thank you', but she doesn't exactly do that.

"I just want you safe," you say, and you mean for it to be laced with malice, but it comes out broken and your voice cracks.

_Fuck._

She unbuckles her seat belt, leans over and hugs you, like you hugged her on the first day of school, and you freeze. You melt in her arms, suffering quietly. This is the purest form of torture yet. You cling onto her touch, the scent of her hair, the scent of her perfume, and relive it over and over again once you're at home. You don't know much, but you do know you care about her more than you've ever cared for anyone and that part scares you, just a bit. You would do absolutely anything for her.

You wonder for a long time if that's a good or bad thing. Should one person hold the key to your heart? Should her end, her demise be as big of a disaster to you as it would? You think about what you would do if you found out Lydia died today. How you'd regret keeping your feelings to yourself.

You come to the conclusion that you need to tell her, tell her soon. Your feelings are in the way of your friendship. You can't do it yet, but you will do it, soon. You don't have any expectations, fearful she'll reject you and nothing will be the same.

You were doomed when you realized you loved her, Allison.

third. your ears are tuned to her voice. you could pick her in a sea of thousands.

They find Erica's body, Boyd and Derek's sister, Cora, soon after your mini fight with Lydia and it snaps you and Lydia back to reality and each other.

Erica's funeral is a small and quiet venue, but still, you know that Erica did not have many friends and this is too many people who could've truly known her. You didn't know her well, but you feel partly responsible. You see some of her former bullies, too. Are they guilty? Feeling bad that they hurt her and now she's dead, and they can never apologize or redeem themselves? Or are they pretending like they cared about her? This thought bothers you, but you remember you've hurt her too. Sure, it was life-threatening, but still.

You see Derek, his younger sister - the one they found with Boyd, and Boyd himself standing together, weeping silently. You want to say something, but what can you? You don't know them well either. You're reminded of your mother and Kate's funerals, and how people said they were sorry for you, and how much they loved them. Which was total shit. You didn't even know them, their niece and daughter, so how would some distant cousin or family friend know them?

People are fake as hell when someone dies, you've learned.

Lydia invites you to her place afterwards, to, quote: "Lighten the day". You don't change out of the black dress you wore when you reach her house, and she even compliments you. "You look cute in black," she says casually, and you beam with pride.

"Thank you," you say, cheeks flushing red. It's been a strange few weeks. An alpha pack. Isaac, Boyd and Derek's younger sister (Cora, right?), and Erica's death. A weird, string of ritual-like killings. Trying to keep everyone safe. Trying not to lose your mind. You feel exhausted, the type of exhaustion that eight hours of sleep cannot fix. Even if you're lucky to get that much sleep. Coupled with the workload of junior year, you're busy. You don't really have the time to dwell on your feelings for Lydia, feelings that seem to grow with each passing day.

You want time to stop, to take a break from everything. Winter break is a two months away, and you're counting the days down until then. Fifty-three days isn't _that_ long from now, is it?

"Okay, there's something I've been keeping from you," Lydia says suddenly, sitting on the edge of her bed.

You scoot closer to her, an eyebrow arching. "Oh really?" She doesn't sound too serious, so you aren't really concerned, but this piques your interest.

She nods, biting down on her inner lip. "You can't tell anyone, especially Scott, okay?" She requests, and alright now, this is worrying you. But she's smiling a little, so it can't be that bad, can it? So you nod, nudging her to just hurry up and continue.

"I've been seeing Aiden."

Is this what heartbreak feels like? Lydia isn't yours, she never was, and you shouldn't be feeling jealous. You turn away from her, so she doesn't see whatever pathetic look is bound to appear on your face and see how upset you are. Snap out of it, Allison, you tell yourself. She's just your friend. She sounds happy, too. Isn't that what's important? Her happiness?

No, her safety is.

"Has he hurt you? Made you do anything you didn't want to do?" Your voice is cracking, and holy fuck, you're going to start to cry. This is embarrassing, you're crying over a stupid crush. "Has he?" You demand shakily.

"No, Allison, no," she says softly, and she's confused by this, by what you're feeling. It's obvious, but she doesn't press. "He's not in that position of power when we're together, actually."

You stand up, feeling dizzy. You have to get out of here, you can't be here anymore. This is all wrong, it's all wrong. You should be with me, you're thinking and this is suddenly too much for you. "I need to go," you say.

"What? Are you mad at me, Allison?"

Yes, I am furious! You want to scream, to shake her to get the point across, but no, you can't. So you force a smile, pretend like this is okay and you're fine with it. "No, no, I just - my dad wanted me home half an hour ago, and I just let time pass by quickly. I should get going, I'm sorry." You race out the door before Lydia can say anything, and once you're out the door, you realize that Lydia was your ride and you have to walk home.

And it's raining.

Perfect.

You should really go back inside, and ask for a ride, but no, you can't. She'll question you, probe you with questions that you don't really have the answer to. You hear footsteps leading to the front door and run out of view, run until your lungs are burning and your legs ache. You call up Scott, and even though he isn't one of your contacts, you've memorized his number. And it seems like he's memorized you, because he answers on the first ring and says, "Allison?"

"I'm by, I'm by Lydia's house, can you pick me up?" You're shivering, trembling, shaking.

"Uh, sure, I'll be there soon." He ends the call, and you stand there, watching rain fall hard and quickly. You're getting colder by the second and when you finally see Scott's' car pull up, you run over to him, even if you're starting to feel numb and starting to lose the feeling in her hands. You swing the door open and slide in, immediately making a mess. "I'm so sorry, Scott," you say instantly, but you make no effort to clean up the mess since it's pointless. Your butt's wet, and you're still freezing, but it's a little better now.

But he just laughs a little, shaking his head. "It's fine, don't worry about it. So, uh, do I want to know why you asked me to pick you up and not Lydia?" He leans over to raise the warmth in the car, thankfully.

You pale, stiffening because you can't will yourself to admit it. "Um. She told me she was sleeping with Aiden and I got upset. She wasn't thinking clearly about this. He's dangerous. She's too blindsided by his dick that she can't realize how stupid she's being!" You say hotly, crossing your arms over your chest. You look at him, challenging him to argue with her and her logic. You sound jealous.

She's not yours to be jealous over.

Scott tenses. "Does this have to do with what you wanted to tell me at the library?" His voice and face softens, and _crap,_ he's got you figured out. Is it a werewolf thing, an Alpha thing or a Scott thing? The ability to see through someone and see what's truly bugging them? It's a curse, you think, but it makes you feel better that he knows you this well. Like, even after you broke up, he still cares about you.

"Maybe," you say vaguely, hoping he'll understand. You don't even try to lie, since it's basically _pointless_ to lie in front of Scott. Even if he didn't have werewolf abilities, he knows you too well to not catch you in a lie. "I think you can figure it out, Scott," you say quietly. You can't say it aloud, not yet, but you can allude to it, right?

Scott puts the pieces together quickly, and doesn't look upset or mad. His mouth spreads into a soft smile, and it's warm, welcoming. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but can I give you some advice? I know you didn't ask for it, but I just want you to be happy, you know? She makes you happy, right?"

You nod. "Give me something, Scott, please," you say desperately, pathetically, laughing a little at yourself. You're asking for love advice from your former boyfriend. The irony of it all is amusing, if not, desperate as fuck.

"Alright," he says, turning his body to you. "You have to tell her."

"Oh, God, no," you whimper, shrinking into your seat. "That's a terrible idea! She won't return the feelings and it'll be awkward, and I'll ruin our friendship, and it'll never be the same again -" You ramble, the words stumbling out of you in an anxious rush. Why are feelings so complicated?

Scott places his hand atop of yours, trying to calm you down. "You never know, Allison. I'm not saying you have to do it right this second, but just think about it, okay? She could return the feelings. If you don't tell her, you'll always wonder 'what if?' and wondering is the absolute worst. Take a risk, Allison. And it's okay if things will never be the same. Hey, if you and I can break up and still be somewhat friends, and if we can defeat Peter Hale and a kanima, anything is possible, right? And defeat Deucalion and friends, and whatever's killing everyone, which we will," he reminds her.

You smile. Scott's optimism can be excruciatingly annoying at times, but this is not one of those times. "Deucalion and friends? Really?" You say teasingly, lower lip curling into a grin. You can't, and you won't, continue to obsess over Lydia. For now, you'll laugh and spend time with your (ex-boyfriend) good friend of yours.

"I can't say Alpha Pack with a serious face," he says, laughing at himself.

You feel comfortable around Scott, and he's right, you realize. You can't tell her now, no. It's too busy, it's too complicated. It's always going to be complicated, but there'll be a right time, right? There will be, you tell yourself. "You wanna hangout for a bit?"

"That sounds great, actually," Scott says earnestly, and he starts the car and drives. "I see the way she looks at you. She's in love with you, too, I'm positive. I mean, how can someone not fall in love with Allison Argent?"

"You're kinda biased there, Scott," you say.

He laughs purely, his eyes twinkling and his eyes crinkle a little.

You have no idea where you're going, but it's okay. You trust him. You're too consumed with thoughts to ask, anyway, thinking about what he recently said. _How can someone not fall in love with Allison Argent,_ and _I've seen the way she looks at you_. Is that the truth, or is he trying to be a comforting, reassuring friend? You look at him, and you know, he wouldn't lie to you, he just wouldn't. So you smile, mainly to yourself, because you have hope.

Things will be okay.

Scott tells you about his eyes turning red, and how Deaton says it's something rare, called a True Alpha. Right away when you hear the name, you know, you just _know,_ that the idea was created for people like Scott in mind. You spend the next five minutes gushing over him, how kind and courageous he is, and he's blushing and squealing, saying things along the lines of "Stop" or "You're making me blush". That drives you further, naturally, and you look at him, like, really look at him.

He's grown so much since you first met him, since he first gave you that pen and you confusedly, but still appreciatively accepted. There's been physical changes, obviously. He's grown taller, become more of a man than a boy. His arms have gotten thicker, and you catch yourself staring at his arms for a little too long. As a person? He hasn't changed much, but he's become more of a leader. A savior.

You learn one thing from your car ride and your trip to McDonald's with Scott. That if you and your ex-boyfriend can become friends again, anything is possible. For a few hours, you're distracted by Scott McCall and shit, you never thought you'd say that sentence again.

four.

You apologize to Lydia shortly for leaving so abruptly, and because she's so amazing (and you totally do not deserve her), she graciously accepts. You are shamelessly blaring music from your computer on a dull, Saturday night while writing your paper on an economic depression that you've just learned about two hours ago. You've had two weeks to complete it, so naturally, you start it two days before it's due. You're typing away, so close to the five-thousand word count, that you don't use contractions and make your sentences and ideas very complex, adding unnecessary words that truly have no space in your paper.

But it doesn't matter.

You're just trying to pass this stupid, stupid class.

You take a break, feeling your fingers become sore and lean into your chair, shutting your eyes to the sound of the music. You're busy. The stress is taking its toll on you, and you haven't had a good nights worth of sleep in months. You need to unwind, you need a break. You wish desperately that you could just take a break from school, from the druid making ritual sacrifices, and the Alpha Pack. Seriously, who the fuck makes sacrifices anymore? What year is it? What era is it?

And, yeah, you're in love with your best friend and looking at her hurts.

She says she thinks she's feeling something for Aidan, the werewolf that just so happens to be plotting against them. Naturally, you're defensive and you need to tell Scott, you need to tell someone. Isn't she aware of how crazy this is? Scott would snap some sense into her, wouldn't he? But she'd kill you for telling, kill you for treating her like she's some incompetent child, like you're snitching on her to a teacher. You're not judging her, no, but you're questioning her. She's biased, blinded by the truth that Aidan wants to infiltrate the pack.

"I'm not stupid, I won't give up any information," she'll always say.

"If you're not stupid, than why do you keep going back to him?" You will angrily reply.

It's a cycle, and you both get tired of fighting and promise to stop talking about it, but that doesn't exactly work out. So, you're kind of taking a Lydia break, and it's slowly, painfully killing you. You miss her laugh, you miss her green eyes, you miss her infectious smile. You miss her. But you're angry, angry that she isn't listening to you, and angry she's still seeing him and angry that she doesn't realize how you love her with your entire soul.

It's getting annoying, now.

A part of you wants to tell her, to rip the band aid off and get it over with, but the mere thought absolutely _terrifies_ you. She'll reject you, you're certain of it. She'll tell you she loves you, but not in the same way and it'll be a tragic tale of a girl in love with her straight, hetero best friend. She'll keep seeing Aiden, and you'll literally die. No, kanimas, alphas, and druids won't be the death of you, the girl you're in love with dating someone else will. What an anti-climatic ending, but a good plot twist.

You wonder if she misses you _nearly_ as much as you miss her. You say nearly, because it's impossible for her to care about you as much as you care about her.

A part of you, however, just wants to just end this friendship, because it hurts too much. Another part wants you to get over it and get a distraction, too.

What the fuck is wrong with you? This girl is driving you ballistic, and you're losing it. But holy shit, it's worth it, isn't it?

You don't know what you're going to do, but you do know you miss the hell out of her, so when your phone buzzes and you see it's from Lydia, you answer on the first ring.

"Lydia?" You say, your voice littered with excitement. Pathetic, a voice in your head sings, absolutely _pathetic_. You don't really care, you just miss her and every little, small detail about her.

You start to think she called you by accident when you all you hear is shuffling and shifting of things, and heavy breathing. "Lydia," you repeat, your voice stern and hard. Now your mind drifts, wanders to the dark part. What if she's kidnapped? What if she's trying to call for help?

"LYDIA!" You start to scream into the phone, suddenly standing up. You feel dizzy at the sudden impact, fingers rubbing at your forehead. Your head hurts, now, not because you stood up too quickly, but because you're thinking about the different things that could be wrong right now.

"Allison," she says finally, voice thick with tears and she sounds like she's been crying. "Allison, I found a dead body. I need you right now, I need you."

Holy shit, you think. She needs you, she actually needs you! This is twisted, you're fully aware, and you shouldn't be so happy that she's calling you in her time of need, not fucking Aiden, or Stiles, or anyone else. You. "Tell me where you are," you instruct calmly, "and I promise, I'll be there soon."

She's at the swimming pool by your school, she tells you wearily, and you tell your dad that your friend needs you before racing to your car. In hindsight, you should've went up to him instead of declaring that and bolting out of the house, but it doesn't matter, not anymore. You won't tell him what happens, though. You can't tell him.

Your heart is filled with too much worry that you nearly crash, driving recklessly that you're surprised you haven't been pulled over yet. It's late in the night, and practically no one is out at this time. Well, no one that you see. You stop Lydia's familiar, frankly iconic, green jacket and a mop of red hair. You kick the door open and run to her, nearly tripping over yourself and she runs to you too.

This would be a great scene in a romantic movie, you think, the two protagonists running into each other's eyes and declaring their love for each other. But no, it's just one girl hopelessly in love with the other and the other seeing her as a friend.

That's all.

Oh, and the best friend found a dead body and is a beacon of dead bodies. A walking obituary. You could keep going all day.

You fling your arms protectively around Lydia, holding her close to your chest. She's short, so her head is buried in your chest, and she's weeping silently. You can feel your shirt stain with her tears, but you don't mind. It's okay, she's Lydia and she just loves you. "Hi," you say stupidly.

She doesn't respond.

You caress her hair gently and lovingly, your other arm still wrapped around her. "Shh," you whisper, trying to stay calm. You don't glance at the body, you don't bother. "I got you, I got you. You're okay, it's okay, we're okay," you tell her, reminding her that she's safe over and over again until she stops crying.

"Why do I find them? What's _wrong_ with me?" She isn't crying, but her voice is muffled and she looks visibly distressed as she inches back to stare into your eyes.

You wish that you could tell her, that you could help her. You're useless now, but you can help, can't you? You can make her feel better. _She called **you.**_ "We'll figure it out okay? I promise." To further emphasize your point, you grab her face, maybe a little too roughly, and hold her cheeks in your hand.

She stares at you, with big, wide eyes.

You stare back at her, taking in every detail of her face. The strands of red, thin hair blocking her face. Her puffy cheeks and eyes. The flush of her face, the flush that deepens when you touched her face. How her eyes aren't green, no, they're emerald. Shit, now you're sounding like Stiles, what with the technicality.

She's gorgeous.

But that's not why you love her.

Her gaze shifts, and she's staring at your lips. At first, you're sure you're hallucinating and making it up, but after a few solid blinks, you're sure of it.

Fuck, she wants to kiss you.

Or she wants you to kiss her.

You should ask her what she wants, but it's clear to you. How could she not want to kiss you? She's not straight, oh thank _God,_ she isn't straight. You lean forward, and press your lips against hers, like your life depended on it. A quote comes to your mind, as you taste her lips for the first time. What is it again? Something about she being water and he being desperate to drown? You've been drowning for so long already, lungs filling with water as you loved her. It's painful, but you melt in her arms, in her grasp, in her lips.

It's worth it.

She kisses you back, but pulls away after a brief moment.

Which doesn't bother you, because she probably wants to declare her love for you, or, you know, catch her breath

Your lips shakily extend into a smile, but she pulls away from _you._

Oh _shit._

_You should have **fucking** asked._

"Allison, I'm not ... I don't feel that way -" She starts to stutter, shaking her head. Her eyebrows are furrowed, and she's sucking on her lips anxiously, probably trying to rid the taste of you.

"No," is all you can say, is all you can think of, because you're officially doomed. "You love me!" You start to cry, your eyes filling with tears. You're angry, no - you're sad. You're so fucking sad, and broken and _tired._ You never deserved her. "You wanted to kiss me!"

Lydia looks horrified, like she does not know of this horrible, miserable being that's breaking down in front of her. "I love you, just not like that."

"No, _no,_ don't say that! You _love_ me, don't you? You wanted to kiss me!" You say, and you're babbling at this point, blubbering as tears stream down your cheeks. "You love me," you say blankly.

 _I don't,_ it seems like she's about to say. "I do," she says softly, "just not in that way."

You should've asked.

"You wanted to kiss me!"

"Every girl wants to experiment," she says, like it justifies what just happened. "I'm sorry," she says.

"Don't be," you say, and you don't intend for it to sound harsh, but it does. "I can't go," you say. "Call 911 or some shit," you hiss, almost venomously. You're angry, you get to be angry, don't you? She can feel what she wants, of course, but rejection stings. You shouldn't be driving, not when you're so emotionally impaired, but it's fine.

You.

Should.

Have.

Asked.

You pull over after you've driven out of sight, stopping. You sob, blaring the radio to cover the sound of you crying. It's Taylor Swift, singing about a great love of hers. _Fuck_ this. You shut it off, and decide to call Scott, and when he says your name, repeats it a dozen times actually, you just cry. "I told her - I told her. She doesn't feel the same way, Scott." You sound like a mess. You are a mess.

"Where are you, Allison?"

"Don't - don't come for me. Can I - can I stop by? Is that okay?" Your voice sounds clearer, less muffled, than when you first answered, and you're relieved.

"Of course. Mom's working overnight, and Isaac fell asleep during the movie we were watching, the Winter Soldier. I'm _so_ angry at him for that. Gah, sorry, that's not the point and it's not important. I'll be here to talk, okay? Be safe," he says, and you don't reply. You just end the car and drive as fast as possible to his house. It doesn't matter if you're speeding. A small number of police officers bother patrolling the streets at night, especially the suburban areas.

Scott lived in a fairly nice neighborhood, with little to no crime.

You drive up to his house, recognizing the tattered basketball hoop that's been in the same spot for months now, and park on his driveway. You see the door open and Scott's head pop out from between the cracks before you get out of the car. You run down his driveway, swing the front door open and hug him.

He smells familiar, and he wraps his huge, thick arms around you, squeezing you reassuringly. "I got you," he says, repeating it until you calm down into his arms.

You don't cry, but you hold onto him, until you, feeling like an emotional mess again, pull away and let it usher you into his house, even though you know the way. "Isaac's upstairs?"

Scott timidly shakes his head, slowly and quietly closing the front door. "He's in the living room."

You snort when you see Isaac, with drool dripping down his face and pieces of popcorn stuck on his chin, neck, and probably down his shirt. He's slumped on the brown, tattered couch, a blanket wrapped around his body and that is the most uncomfortable position someone could have ever fallen asleep in. You want to shove the entire bowl down his shirt, actually, to see if he'd wake up and to see how pissed he'd be come morning, but Scott would probably disagree and scold you. Or at least try to talk you out of it. But you ask anyway.

"Would you hate me if I dumped that entire bowl down his shirt?" You ask, feigning the most innocent voice you can muster. You smile at him, too, trying to win him over with your infectious grin. You've been told by him and by many that your grin could save a life. Lately, you don't find yourself grinning as much.

His answer surprises you. "Not at all," he says, and he actually grins at you, like that idea is hilarious.

"Oh, so there's a dark side to True Alpha McCall?" You tease, as you dive straight in, gently taking the red, plastic bowl out of his hand. His fingers seemed glued to it, but you pry it out of his hands after tugging on it. He's a heavy sleeper, you observe. You're reminded of your ring daggers flying into his back, the blood oozing out of his skin, and the sharp, broken cry escaping him. Guilt trickles into your veins. You apologized, but sometimes, an apology isn't enough.

What else can you do?

Isaac will most definitely hate you after this, but it's alright.

Then again, Lydia will probably hate you too for ruining everything, so you might as well get used to people hating you, now won't you?

You're zoning out again, going back to reality when you hear Scott mention you in a story. You miss most of it, but force a laugh, even if you're totally confused. "Ready?" You say, holding the bowl chest-level to Isaac.

"Yup." Without being told to, Scott stands next to you, pulling Isaac's shirt over.

You're giggling, the bowl shaking in your hands, but you dump it all at once. Maybe you're really tired, the exhaustion from being rejected getting too much for you, but this is hilarious. Scott finds it funny too, and you're clutching your sides, laughing really hard, when Isaac groggily wakes up.

"What - oh, what the _fuck,_ guys."

The next five minutes are spent with Isaac screaming at the both of you, and you and Scott trying really hard not to laugh but miserably failing as Isaac gives you a lecture, while removing the popcorn out of his shirt. Which is funnier than him waking up, if possible.

You forget about Lydia for a few hours. You forget how she has your heart until she's attacked by your English teacher.

_six. you know her. you love her. through a thousand lifetimes, across millions of stars. you'd find her, you'd never leave her. you love her, till death do you part._

It has been a few weeks since you've last talked to Lydia. Compared to before, when you were dying to talk to her, you're doing surprisingly well. You're spending more time with Scott, Stiles and Isaac, spending a fraction of your time trying to find out who the druid is and how to defeat the Alpha Pack _safely,_ but most of it is just leisure and is spent hanging out, watching movies, and playing video games.

You do your homework when those three idiots start to play video games.

After that night by the swimming pool, Lydia texted you, blowing your phone up with calls which you ignore, voice mails you delete, and texts you read, but don't reply to. _Stop,_ you text her one day. _Give me space, alright?_ You sound like a bitch, but you don't care. Lydia's allowed to feel whatever she wants to feel, but you think about how she didn't call after you when you walked away.

Is that even supposed to hurt?

You don't really know, but it stings regardless, and you're slightly pissed.

She's sorry, she claims, in her texts for hurting you, but not for having emotions, which pisses you off.

Maybe Lydia wasn't the person you cared about, the person you thought she was.

Isaac has been coming over more often, and you think he likes you, too. Which is sort of cute, and you could go for him. You're just worried what Scott would think or react. Scott McCall does not impact, dictate or influence your decisions, but you love Scott. He was your first, great love, of course you'll always care about him. You don't want to hurt him, not in any way, so you don't tell him, not yet.

You and Isaac are headed to school when Isaac hisses, covering his ears. You stop the car immediately, staring at him with concern. "Isaac?" You ask, your voice heavy and thick with worry. " _Isaac,_ " you say sternly, like he's some dog and you're his owner.

He looks at you, clenching his jaw. "It's Lydia."

You purse your lips, feeling lightheaded and dizzy. You filled Isaac in on the Lydia situation nearly a week ago, and he's mostly sympathetic. He hasn't made any jokes about it or made fun of you, like Stiles did ("Been there!" with a high five), and you appreciate it. He's a good listener, never interrupting you when you have to say something. He doesn't have much experience, he admits one day to you when he's at your house. He had, and still does, have a crush on Erica, but didn't say anything, because Boyd confided in him that he loved Erica and Erica obviously loved him.

Boyd died recently at the hands of one of the alphas, and Isaac's happy they're together again. Boyd was miserable when he learned Erica was dead, Isaac reveals.

Even though his experience is limited, he still gives you great advice, and is understanding of your position, of wanting someone but not being able to love them the way you want to.

"Yes? What is it?" You force your mind to stop jumping to terrible conclusions, because she's probably fine. " _Isaac,_ " you say again, a little harshly.

He flinches at the rise of your voice, and you flash him an apologetic look. He returns the same look, mirroring your face. "She's in trouble."

When you're at the school, you're too late. Jennifer's escaped and is the druid, Scott says, Lydia's hurt and the Sheriff has been kidnapped by her. Her throat's slashed, but she's alive, passed out, but alive and will recover with some time. You don't really care about the Sheriff, which makes you the shittiest friend, but it's _Lydia._ Lydia's hurt and you didn't protect her. You nearly collapse with joy and simultaneously, grappling terror, both feelings gripping you, so you resort to holding onto Isaac's shoulder. He holds you, making sure you make it to the car safely.

He drives you to the hospital, following the ambulance. You don't say anything, playing the music loudly to distract you. It's clear to you that Isaac is annoyed, but he says nothing. There is a strong, burning feeling of fear that stirs in your stomach, that cannot be contained until you see her, see visual _proof_ that she is okay.

The car ride is unbearable and you run into the hospital. That's sort of _rude_ and disrespectful to Isaac, who drove you here despite his fear of driving, only getting his licence because his father demanded Isaac do it. He'll understand.

You know he will.

"I'm here to see Lydia Martin," you breathlessly explain to the nurse. "I'm - I'm her older sister," you lie. You look nothing alike, but a nurse would not say that. There must be genuine fear in your eyes, because the nurse does not ask for ID or your name, but gives you a brief summary of what's happening and lets you see her, if briefly.

"She's okay, for the most part. She's still unconscious, so you can talk to her, but she won't speak to you." The nurse flashes you a thin-lipped smile, before departing.

You stare, feeling the same way you did when Peter Hale attacked her, like your heart is breaking, slowly, very slowly. You open the door slowly, even if she's not going to see or hear you.

You walk up to her, your legs suddenly weighing a lot, and when you see her, you touch her face. It's a gentle touch of course, because you don't want to hurt her. "I love you, so much, you know?" She probably knows. You've said it to her so many times, the words have lost all meaning, but does she know the intensity of it? This thought bugs you, so you tell her.

"I love you so much. I would do anything for you." You pull up a chair to her bedside. "I'd kill for you, _die_ for you. Doesn't mean much, since I'll probably have to kill for you soon at this rate." For some twisted reason, maybe because you're exhausted, you find this funny. Morbid, huh? "I'm sorry I ruined things. I'm sorry. We'll be friends, sure, I can't live without you, not really, but it won't be the same. I ruin everything, don't I? Wonder if it's because of me, my mom's dead. Or Kate's dead. Sounds stupid, but I could've prevented it. Sure, I should blame the people who hurt them, the people who caused them to die, but, still. Maybe, somehow, it's my fault. I ruin everything, don't I?"

You're tearing up, and you don't expect a response. Then again, you don't expect most things that happen to you.

"You don't ruin things," she croaks out, her voice a feeble whisper, hushed and quiet.

 _She won't speak to you,_ the nurse said. The same nurse that did not ask for your ID. You're starting to question Beacon Hills Hospital staff, when Lydia raises a hand, gesturing for you to move closer. You think she's going to whisper something to you, but she doesn't. She _kisses_ you.

_[six. she loves you too.]_

You're confused, but you don't protest, sucking on her lips, melting once again in her grasp. She tastes, somehow, better than last time, something you want to remember. Although she's been attacked, she still looks beautiful. You trace your fingers down her neck, dragging your knuckles down the fresh, bandaged wound. Her heart monitor spikes, the beeping ringing in your ears. You reluctantly pull away, not wanting nurses popping in, because of her heartbeat.

"You told me you didn't love me." You don't mean to sound accusatory, but it comes out that way. You should shut up. Why are you saying this? Why are you ruining a near-damn perfect moment? "Do you? Love me?"

Lydia doesn't respond immediately. "When you asked for space, I thought about why this hurt so much. You're my best friend, yeah, but should it hurt like this? I hadn't felt this way in a while, only when Jackson left the country, when it hit me: I love her. I love her, and I ruined everything. I felt _terrible._ Still do. I hurt you, and I made you think I didn't feel the same way, when I do, oh _shit,_ I do."

You're going to start blubbering. You're going to start _crying._  "I'd kiss you, but I'm scared a nurse will walk in."

She laughs, her eyes crinkling beautifully. You're screwed, but so is she.

So, she loves you.

"I love you too. I didn't say that yet," Lydia says, lower lip curling into a grin.

You grin, not caring about the nurses, not anymore. You lean in close, stopping when your lips brush. "You didn't have to."

If Lydia and you were a story, it would not end off with 'they lived happily ever after', because that's not how it works, not after the guy gets the girl, or in this case, the girl gets the girl. No, neither of you were destined for a happy ending, you know this for a fact. _That's_ how it works. But, while you still could, you lived. It was happy. _She_ made you happy. You, hopefully, made her happy too.

They lived happily ever after _briefly,_ momentarily. Before the world, before life, before reality came crashing downhard.

Yeah, that works, you think as you hold her face in your hands and lean in to press your lips hungrily against hers.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Let me just say, that writing this was painful. Allison and Lydia had one of the strongest bonds on Teen Wolf and I've always seen it as romantic rather than platonic, but writing it out was also fun. There are probably a lot of mistakes, punctuation, spelling, grammar and mess ups regarding the timeline of how things went in the show. My excuse is I'm simply going off what I remember. I should have looked it up, I know, but this is my fanfiction and yes, I can do what I want, and we can just say it's mostly canon compliant.


End file.
